He finished the letter, read it once more--and his fingers mechanically began to tear it into little shreds.

His brain was in a whirl, a vortex of conflicting emotions.

Had Whitey Mack and Lannigan left Bristol Bob's yet?
Where were they now?
Was there time for--this?
He was staring at the little torn scraps of paper in his hand.

He thrust them suddenly into his pocket, and jerked out his watch.

It was nearly midnight.